<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Advanced Greek Philosophy and Applied Drawing by goforth</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23881015">Advanced Greek Philosophy and Applied Drawing</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/goforth/pseuds/goforth'>goforth</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Community (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, annie edison needs a hug</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 14:56:00</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,599</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23881015</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/goforth/pseuds/goforth</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>An anthology of Annie and her soulmarks.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Annie Edison &amp; Britta Perry, Annie Edison/Jeff Winger, Troy Barnes &amp; Annie Edison &amp; Abed Nadir</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>273</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Advanced Greek Philosophy and Applied Drawing</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Well, I rewatched Community and couldn't get this AU out of my mind, so I wrote it down. Many thanks to Netflix, Dan Harmon, Jim Rash's outfits, and Joel McHale's facial hair.</p><p>Unbeta'd, so please don't judge me too hard!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When the first mark burns it’s way onto the space right above her belly button, she’s seventeen. It’s the first time Annie remembers her mother being proud of her.</p><p>“I knew you were just a late bloomer!” Vera Edison preens as she pulls up her daughter’s camisole, inspecting the crudely drawn star. It’s fresh, so it’s burning as all new soulmarks do. Her mother’s fingers trace over the angry red lines and Annie tries her best not to flinch at the sensation. “No daughter of mine would be markless.”</p><p>Later, when it’s just Annie in her too-pink childhood bedroom, she traces her fingers over the pattern, over and over. Down, up, down, diagonal, across, diagonal. The lines are jagged and she tries to imagine the person on the other end drawing it. When her mother first told her that the Edisons were Mark Receivers, rather than Mark Givers, Little Annie had dreamed of elaborate symbols and watercolors. She’d imagined full constellations spanning her back and beds of pink and red roses licking their way up her calves. She’d imagined them drawn by handsome jocks and future Nobel Peace Prize winners, all intellects and hopeless romantics. </p><p>And then she turned fourteen, the age where Mark Givers would generally trace their first symbols, and woke up every day as a blank canvas, and she learned to stop hoping. Her puberty had so far been spent wondering if she was destined to be that way forever, lumped with the Markless and homeless who didn’t have anyone to care enough to pull them out. So while her mother takes the opportunity to turn her nose down at the lack of effort displayed the second a mark finally appears, Annie just feels grateful to have one at all.</p><p>She spends the summer before her senior year with her arms locked at her sides, waiting for the star to glow with recognition of its creator. And when it doesn’t, because her mother doesn’t let her go anywhere besides the library and community center, she hatches a plan to convince her guidance counselor to allow her to change her senior year class schedule to fit with the football team’s. It turns out not to be that hard in the end and Annie enters her final year of high school with an unwavering belief that Troy Barnes is her soulmate.</p><p>The pieces just <em> fit</em>, you see. Everyone knows about Troy’s affinity for doodling in his textbooks. And if Annie bribes Jessica Long with twenty dollars and a really good essay on <em> Tom Sawyer </em> to let her get Troy’s Physics textbook next and she sees a series of attempts at David’s Star (<em>The Boy In the Striped Pajamas </em>was big that year), well, that’s only further proof. Getting to sit directly next to Troy during Chemistry is probably just a coincidence. Annie, however, takes it as a sign, and every school day becomes a gamble full of promises. She waits, and waits, and waits for the star to recognize its artist. She comes up with excuses to feel the brush of Troy’s hand when she drops her pencil. She takes any opportunity she can to hover over him and point over his shoulder when he doesn’t understand a problem. She even manipulates Mr. Colliver to let them be lab partners one class, just so she can wrap an arm around his shoulder when he cries at a surprise explosion. And still the star lays dormant.</p><p>So Troy didn’t draw the mark. Troy didn’t draw the mark, and he isn’t her soulmate, and Adderall Annie takes a bunch of pills and flies through a glass door and enters rehab, armed with the knowledge that she’ll never be good enough for the quarterback.</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>The star fades during her time at Sunshine Behavioral Sanctuary. She’s told that can happen, that sometimes marks can dissipate. Aaron’s in her Wednesday Group Therapy and one particularly heated session he strikes up a debate. Soulmarks aren’t supposed to last forever, he argues, or else people wouldn’t have multiple. Some marks and some mates are meant to fade with time. Sarah makes the point that soulmarks can mean different things, like forever enemies and best friends, and Annie thinks back to her high school rival with an affinity for NASA and printed star stickers on her ceiling. Carlson insists that marks must be forever, or else what’s the point? Still, in the end, they all agree that drugs last forever.</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>Greendale Community College isn’t where Annie wants to be, but it’s where she ends up. She sees the school flier the day after she gets out of rehab at a frozen yogurt shop and it feels like kismet. A chance to start over. A chance to build up some experience, and knowledge, and grades, before she applies for a real college. It’s not a Perfect Annie Edison Plan, but it’s good enough. </p><p>And besides, it’s been over a year since her first (and only) mark faded from her stomach. She could use a distraction.</p><p>The day she receives her enrollment letter, she buys the freshest pack of binders and pens she can find. Without her mother’s financial backing she has to settle for a second-rate backpack, but she does plenty of research and makes do. The local Payless is devoid of size six Mary Jane flats by the time she’s through with them, and Annie is ready. She signs up for enough credits to be able to transfer in two years, and she finds herself somehow most excited for her language credit. (Chang seems like a weird name for a Spanish teacher, sure, but Annie isn’t <em> totally </em> picky. She’s always wanted to learn another language, after all.) Getting through her time at a community college will be a challenge, but Annie’s never been one to shy away from a challenge.</p><p>When Spanish 101 finally rolls around, her third and second-to-last class of the day, she’s already in the grove of things. Annie gets the impression that Greendale doesn’t take itself seriously, and it makes things both easier and harder. She can manipulate easy. She can flash her doe-eyes and ace tests given by easy. She can study her hardest and raise her hand at every opportunity with easy. But she can’t establish her intelligence with easy, and she can’t connect very much with easy. Her attempts to make friends in Advanced US History and Intro to Applied Kinetics fall short, which she suspects might have something with her aversion to backing down from a debate and a visceral need to confirm the assignments due before the next class. By the time her one o’clock rolls around, Annie’s all but given up on crossing the “Make a lasting bond of friendship in college” item off her checklist.</p><p>And then she meets Abed.</p><p>The first thing she notices is that he won’t meet her eyes when he walks up to her desk, right in the very front row. The second thing she notices is his matter-of-fact tone, devoid of any inflection, as he mentions a study group right after class. He supplies it with pop culture references she doesn’t understand—something about <em> Central Perk </em> and <em> Kelso and Donna </em> and the need for another strong female lead—but ultimately she accepts. Annie will take any chance to impart her studying wisdom on others. </p><p>And maybe she can see Troy Barnes from the corner of her eye, her high school crush whom she did absolutely <em> not </em> follow here, thank you very much, hovering by the door, muttering something about a “board-certified tutor.” Maybe she takes a second to wonder if he recognizes her, her senior year lab partner, and feels an unwarranted tingle just above her navel. Soulmarks might not mean anything to Annie anymore, but old habits tend to die hard. So she accepts, with a warm smile and twinkling eyes, and follows him into the library room.</p><p>There’s a foolish, fleeting moment, right when she catches sight of the table in the middle of the room, where she thinks she feels her breastbone burn. She takes a moment while Abed focuses on choosing the perfect seat (“<em>The seating placement determines everything in the future dynamic of the group.</em>”) to peek down her cardigan but finds nothing. So she choses a seat on the opposite side of Abed, directly across from a blonde woman who identifies herself as Britta, and accepts that this will just be a study group. No chances of soulmarks, romantic or otherwise, here.</p><p>And then Jeff Winger walks in, effortlessly cool and dangerously handsome, and the skin above her breastbone tingles again. And Annie starts to have hope again.</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>The group doesn’t really ever talk about their marks.</p><p>It’s a stark contrast from Annie’s high school and rehab days, where every second was an opportunity for a soulmark pissing contest. Days where bragging about high school sweethearts and who would be there on the other side when they left Sunshine B.S. dominated every conversation. Little Annie No More Marks is grateful for the lack of comparison, but still, it’s surprising. For all they do share with each other, she’d think conversations about soulmarks would be a bigger part of their group dynamic. They’ve gone through Spanish and moving spaceship simulators and paintball fights together and well, she just assumed it’d come up now.</p><p>And then, one day, Dean Pelton bursts into their library room sporting a comically small toga and a leaf crown. Jeff rolls his eyes in an over-exaggerated fashion and Annie snickers into her palm.</p><p>“Ciao, fellow compatriots! When in Rome, <em>dean</em> as the Romans do!”  he marks with a dramatic bow. </p><p>Troy and Abed share a brief look and, in perfect unity, bellow: “Brothers, what we do in life… echoes in eternity!” Annie watches as their hands touch each other with a stab of misplaced longing.</p><p>Dean Pelton simply flicks his wrist in dismissal. “Okay, boys, this isn’t an ode to <em>Gladiator. </em>Though how <em>hot </em>was Russell Crowe in that movie, am I right?” He takes a second to place his hands on his hips and, once realizing that no one seems to be agreeing with him, changes his tune. “Aaaanyway, I’m just popping in to let you all know that the Annual Soulmarks Festival will be happening this Friday in the cafeteria! So get ready to take off your togas and show us what you’ve got! Just make sure everything below the belt is covered. We don’t need a repeat of last year’s Fruit of the <em>Loom</em>-inary Moon Dance.” He raises his arms and looks around the room before landing his gaze on Jeff, who is pointedly Not Looking Back. Craig, not being one to ever take a hint, leans in closer. “I’m hoping to see a dalmatian mark on you, Jeffery.” His hand reaches out to press his hand to Jeff’s chest and Annie giggles as Jeff cringes against the touch. After a beat of uncomfortable staring, the group watches as their dean snaps back into focus. “Alright gang, see you then!”</p><p>“Give me a break,” Britta laments once he skips out the room. “Soulmarks are <em> ridiculous. </em> They’re just another way for the patriarchy to control our lives and convince us that relationships with men are integral to our happiness and therefore the greater good of society. It’s disgusting and controlling!”</p><p>“I think they’re nice,” Shirley croons. “Andre and I have matching sunflowers. And you know that stripper bitch doesn’t have any marks with my soulmate.” If no one acknowledges the dark persona she suddenly takes on, it’s only because they know not to give it any notice anymore. There’s a brief moment of silence, and Annie worries if <em> she’s </em>supposed to mention her current lack of marks, when Pierce speaks up. It’s never a good thing when he does, but she won’t be the one to stop him.</p><p>“Oh, that’s just nonsense Shirley. Of course strippers can have soulmarks! Just ask my third wife and the anatomically correct penis I drew her.” Troy, who has the misfortune of sitting next to his former roommate, shudders in recognition. Pierce just looks proud.</p><p>“Well as much as it pains me to say it, I agree with Britta.” Jeff ignores the offended human being on his right as he drops his cellphone to the table and shifts up in his seat. “I don’t need some juvenile drawing to tell me whether or not I can sleep with a woman. They tend to agree all on their own.”</p><p>Annie can’t stop herself from coming up with a retort. It seems as though she can’t stop herself from doing most things when it comes to Jeff. “Oh come <em> on,</em>Jeff. You can’t honestly expect us to believe that you don’t care about your soulmarks. Even you aren’t that heartless.” She crosses her arms in a way that she can only hope appears authoritative. His disinterested gaze, however, cracks her armor, and she visibly deflates.</p><p>“How many soul marks do you have, Annie?” Abed’s curiosity sends her skin crawling and her body squirming, and she quickly searches for a way to deflect.</p><p>“How many do <em> you</em> have, Abed?”</p><p>It doesn’t have the alarming effect she’s hoping for, but then again. It’s Abed. Annie isn’t sure there’s a sentence on Earth that could shake him. “I have four.” He counts them off, one by one, on his fingers. “A butterfly on my back, which is impressive when you think about the necessary acrobatics, giving the coordination it takes one to draw something on their own back; a lightning bolt on my ankle; a 500 XL blaster from episode twenty of <em> Inspector Spacetime </em> on my wrist,” he takes a moment to finger gun towards Troy, who smiles unabashedly and sends him a thumbs up in return, “and 11:11 on my wrist. It’s a bit of an <em> In Time </em> al á Justin Timberlake cliche, but I can acknowledge that it can be hard to come up with original ideas. Besides, having four soulmarks makes an interesting source of conflict this season. I get to find out which one is <em> romantic.” </em> He ends with a spreading of his palms in front of his face and a faraway look in his eyes, as though he’s watching previews for the next episode of their lives. Annie tries to keep her jealousy at bay as she shifts in her seat. </p><p>Not having any marks at the moment doesn't mean she’s <em> markless, </em> she assures herself.</p><p>Jeff’s still looking at her in that annoying way he does once Abed finishes. “You didn’t answer the question.” An unwelcome memory of hacky sack prone ex-boyfriends and offensively named dances crosses her mind, and Annie flushes. Her mouth falls open in a silent protest as she surveys the table. It turns out that everyone is looking at her, waiting for an answer.</p><p>“Well, I—” Lies burn the tip on her tongue that are in direct protest with her values. Would anyone <em> really </em> deny her claims to a few scattered marks? Her, the cute, young girl with Vaughn and Rich among her latest conquests? The goody-two-shoes tugging at her soul tells her yes. So she relents to the truth. “If you <em> must </em> know, I don’t have any. At the moment.” The confession causes her to sink into herself.</p><p>“On, Ann-ie!” Shirley’s the first to comfort her after the moment of silence, in her mama bear kind of way. “There’s no shame in not having marks. My cousin’s second cousin grew up markless and he still managed to find a lifetime love in Jesus.”</p><p>Troy’s trying his best to smile reassuringly at her. Even Annie can see it falls short. “I knew a guy on the football team who was markless, and he was like, the coolest dude ever! He still banged a <em> ton </em> of chicks. He’s homeless now, but… still. Really cool dude!”</p><p>“I <em> had </em> one,” she hisses, eyes cast down at her purple pen. “Once. In high school. I thought—” Her voice trails off and she can’t help but sneak a glance up at Troy, who’s unable to hide the pity from his eyes. It’s horrible. “Anyway, it went away and now I don’t have any. But I’m not, y’know, <em> markless.” </em> Annie isn’t sure why she needs to make the distinction so desperately, but she can’t give the group another reason to look down at her. Poor Little Annie No More Marks.</p><p>“Vaughn never?” Britta lets the question end there and subconsciously rubs her right shoulder. Annie can only shake her head lamely.</p><p>“We’re both Receivers. I guess sometimes, if the connection is strong enough, a mutual mark can appear without having been drawn, but that wasn’t… the case. With us.”</p><p>There’s an uncomfortable silence and Annie wants to fill it with a scream. She hates it: hates being pitied, hates that her dirtiest laundry has been aired over the study table, hates that everyone’s trying their best to seem distracted with their textbooks. She so desperately wants the group to continue their studying, but she’s shot that horse in the face. There’s no going back now.</p><p>“Buck up, kiddo. You’ll get another one soon.” It’s not the rousing Winger speech she’s used to, but Jeff’s attempt at cheering her up does bring the tiniest of smiles to her face.</p><p>The group finally turns its focus to something other than Annie when Chang emerges from the misplaced vent in the wall and she finds a moment to breathe.</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>(It’s not like Annie spends her first two years at Greendale dreaming of a mark from Jeff Winger. It’s not like she spends four painful semesters doodling hearts and flowers and even the occasional bottle of scotch into her notebook, imagining how they’d look over her heart. It’s not like she imagines her body <em> literally </em> glowing whenever Jeff stands close, a soft, gentle smile crossing his lips because he knows what it means. </p><p>She only spends like, half a year. Tops. And in her defense, she also <em> totally </em>fantasizes Zac Efron marking her with his phone number and saying “Finally, it’s you,” when he picks up the phone. So. Take her fantasies with a grain of salt, viewers.)</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>And then, seemingly out of nowhere, marks slowly start to pepper her skin.</p><p>The first belongs to Britta, who is both a Giver and Receiver. It’s rare—they make up less than ten percent of the population—and it raises a lot of questions in Annie’s mind. Like, is that part of the reason why she’s so defiantly against soulmarks? Because now Britta has a privilege so intense that she has to actively rebel against it? Does she ever forget drawing a mark and has to figure out if it was given by someone else? Is Jeff a Receiver, like Annie, and has a branded symbol from Britta? Or is he a Giver, and Britta has a mark of her own etched onto her skin?</p><p>Annie can’t help but constantly wonder about it, the jealousy bubbling deep within her belly when she’s not careful, and so when a tiny whale makes its way onto her hip bone, she first thinks of Britta.</p><p>Her first clue is the fact that they’ve been working on a <em> Stop Japanese Whaling! </em>bake sale together. It was Britta’s idea, because it’s always Britta’s idea, and they made sure to invite Shirley this time around. Baking doesn’t have much to do with saving the whales but Shirley’s desperate to try out some new recipes. So they gather at Britta’s apartment (Annie’s neighborhood is deemed too dangerous and Shirley didn’t want to deal with the newborn) and drink wine and practice shaping whales with icing. It’s the type of night that fills Annie’s bones with warmth and her veins with a sense of belonging.</p><p>Shirley leaves first. She gives both the girls hugs and takes her half of the cupcakes, promising photos of Ben eating them in the morning. Annie lingers a bit longer. Dildopolis is having a Flash Thursday Night Sale! and she’s hoping to avoid the commotion. It turns out to be a blessing in disguise, because Britta and Annie spend the night gossiping and getting back to their roots. </p><p>They avoid topics of potential destruction (read: mutual exes and marriage) and giggle until their sides hurt. It’s so wonderful that Annie doesn’t even feel the need to bring up marks or how many Britta has or which one belongs to Jeff.</p><p>Three hours later, once the alcohol has turned from an uncomfortable presence to a happy humming, she watches with the sketch glow. And her heart grows three sizes.</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>The second mark is a gavel on the top of her right foot and it makes her limp for days. </p><p>It’s angrier than the whale and it burns for longer. The lines are deep and rushed, like someone did it purely out of spite. Her flats rub against the skin and she curses whoever gave it to her with every step. She debates wearing sandals, just to give herself some relief, but she’s ashamed of the site of it. Anyone with eyes can see it isn’t the mark of soul-bonded love.</p><p>Three days later the pain reaches its climax and Annie has to linger after a study group meeting. </p><p>She waits until everyone leaves, promising to catch up with them later, and peels off her shoes carefully. The layers of band-aids she’d applied are bloody and sticky and she can’t help but whimper as she tears them off. No one ever told Annie marks could hurt so much. No one ever told her that people could have enough hate in their hearts to do something so awful. And no one ever told her that while the pain could be breathtakingly horrible, not knowing who it came from would always be the worst part. </p><p>For a brief, weak moment, she wishes she really was markless.</p><p>“Stupid Pierce and his stupid outdated racism making me forget my compact mirr—Annie? Jesus, are you okay?”</p><p>How Jeff manages to catch Annie at her worst and most vulnerable moments <em>every</em> <em>time</em> is beyond her. She reaches up to brush the frustrated tears away and hopes her smile seems genuine as she slides her foot under the desk. It’s not fast enough, though, because he’s already perched in his seat, awkwardly pulling her foot onto his leg. She watches as he studies it, her breathing pattern steadily increasing and her smile falling. “Is this a mark?”</p><p>“I think so.” It’s all she can say as he inspects it, wincing when he touches the space between the gavel and her toes. Her nose tingles and her face pinches and she’s crying again. Jeff’s eyes stay down at her foot, but she can see the concern crinkle at the corners of his eyes and mouth. “I just… God, Jeff, I didn’t know they could <em> hurt </em> like this. I wish it was gone!” Suddenly she’s hyperventilating between fits of sobs, her body curling towards her lap. She’s acting like a child and she knows it, but she can’t stop. The weight of twenty years spent wishing she was normal, and now having the mark of hatred permanently on her body, is crashing down on her. It doesn’t escape her that she’s complaining to a man who’s probably covered in marks either. Still, she continues, a dam whose break is simply inevitable. “I’m so selfish! Some people don’t even have marks and I’m here, wishing mine wasn’t there! So <em> stupid </em>…”</p><p>“Annie. Stop.” There’s a warm, sudden presence on her shoulders and she looks up to find Jeff incredibly close. And his hands on his shoulders. And his face <em> so </em> close. Her breath catches in her throat and she has to remind herself to push it out. Focusing on the pain searing from her foot is hard when her senses are being filled with expensive hair gel and a subtle aftershave. “You are not selfish. Soulmarks are stupid and painful and they don’t mean anything. You can’t let them affect you or determine your self worth, because at the end of the day, they mean nothing more than a tattoo or a ring. They say nothing about your character. And you, Annie Edison, are one of the kindest, smartest people I’ve ever met, and anyone would be lucky to be with you.”</p><p>When she doesn’t say anything, because she can’t find a word in her brain that isn’t his name, he snaps out of his daze. He places distance between them again, slouching back in his chair. Her foot, notably, is still on his lap. “And besides, just because Annie Kim decided to brand you with a gavel doesn’t mean it’s gonna last forever.”</p><p><em> Annie Kim. </em> Suddenly she’s laser-focused and sitting up in her own chair. “Annie Kim. Of course it was Annie Kim! Jeff, you’re a genius!” Before she can really register what she’s doing, Annie’s leaping forward to press a kiss against his cheek. The scruff of his jaw rubs against hers and her eyes flutter at the sensation. Then she’s pulling back, flushed with embarrassment and staring at his dazed expression. A quick clear of her throat and shuffle of her hips and she’s able to end the quasi-moment. “Thank you. I may not agree with your dismissal of marks, but you really helped me. You’re a good guy.”</p><p>He nods and he’s still staring at her with something unreadable in his eyes. “Well, uh. Just don’t go telling people. Cool guy reputation and all that.”</p><p>In a different timeline she’d be trying to understand why she can’t figure out what he’s thinking, but they’re in this timeline. The perfect timeline. And she can only think about how it makes sense. How Annie Kim, her Greendale rival, has forged their hatred in stone. How now, instead of a symbol of shame, it’s a reminder of her strength, her bravery, her ability to never back down from a fight. They sit like that for a moment, Annie reveling in her realization and Jeff tenderly (and quietly) reapplying her band-aids. Some amount of time later they decide it's time to break the spell, and he finds a way to press his hand against her lower back as they leave the room.</p><p>When she waltzes into Room Seven the following Monday, sandals proudly displaying her gavel, Jeff gives her a smile that illuminates her body.</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>The third mark is special because she watches, in real time, as it appears.</p><p>It’s been a month of living in <em> Casa de Troybed </em> and it’s the best apartment she’s ever had. Of course, that’s not saying there isn’t an adjustment period, because there is. Moving into a safer neighborhood with two of her closest friends shouldn’t be too much of a change in theory, but it takes her a couple of weeks to get comfortable. After the rift of the Resolved Dreamatorium Debacle Annie carries a blanket of guilt around wherever she goes. It keeps her from cleaning or cooking or being too picky with things, and that causes the boys to worry. And that makes her feel <em> more </em>guilty, because she doesn’t want them to worry about her, she just wants to fit in and be loosey-goosey and not ruin things.</p><p>The bursting of the vacuum cleaner, which had reluctantly taken part of an imaginary reenactment of John T. Chance (Abed) and Deputy Dude’s (Troy) midnight ride in the western classic <em> Rio Bravo </em>, finally causes Annie to reach her breaking point. And so a chore chart is born, and a weekly TV schedule is instituted in retaliation, and Apartment 303 achieves equilibrium.</p><p>The night of her third mark is spent watching a rerun of <em> Inspector Spacetime </em>in the living room. It’s two weeks into December and Annie’s on the floor in front of the recliners, her notes and textbooks and a bowl of popcorn scattered in front of her. She’s only half-paying attention to the Battle of the Blorgons in Beta Earth, but she’s focused enough to notice that Troy and Abed are being suspiciously quiet. Normally they’d be going on about whether Constable Reggie could beat Jackie Chan in combat or how the CGI really comes into its own this season, but they’re not. It causes her to peel her eyes away from her Science notes and look up at them warily.</p><p>Troy and Abed, as it turns out, are already looking down at her. And they’re looking sort of <em> nervous. </em>She raises her brows in half intrigue and half worry. It’s unsettlingly, because Troy and Abed are rarely nervous about anything that isn’t related to the potential cancellation of their favorite shows. “You guys okay?”</p><p>“Annie.” Troy starts as he rubs the space on his right wrist, “As you know, Abed and I are both Givers.”</p><p>It’s an odd thing to clarify. Annie nods slowly. “Yeah, it’s a statistical anomaly that two Givers and one Receiver would live together. Right, Abed?”</p><p>“Correct. Most friendship apartment troupes lean towards a healthy mix of Givers and Receivers. It’s more comfortable for the audience to relate to the dynamics that way, because too much imbalance creates a disconnect between the plot and how it’s received. Like how Monica, Rachel, and Phoebe were all Receivers, because it’s in line with the universally accepted romantic concept that women typically—”</p><p>“<em> Abed,” </em> Troy hisses his interruption, head not-so-subtlety nodding in Annie’s direction. “Not now, okay buddy? We have something important we want to tell her?”</p><p>Abed shuts his mouth and nods. “Right. Analysis of marks and sitcoms later.”</p><p>Annie can only watch them, her pulse quickening. Are they telling her that it isn’t working? That Annie needs to move out, because it’s causing an imbalance? She can’t imagine living anywhere else, not after all the Dreamatorium adventures and puppet shadow plays and deep talks between pillows and underneath blankets. Suddenly she’s panicking and blurting her thoughts out loud. “Are you guys kicking me out?”</p><p>“No! Annie, no. We love living with you.” Annie instantly relaxes with Troy’s reassurance, but it doesn’t take all of the edge off. If they’re not kicking her out, then why bring up the imbalance of their living situation at all?</p><p>The two boys glance at each other before nodding. Annie holds her breath.</p><p>“We want to draw a mark for you. The two of us. We’ve decided it’ll go on Troy, because he has one less mark than me, but we’ll both draw a piece of it. We already have it all worked out, but we wanted to check if it would be okay with you first.”</p><p>This would be the part where Annie would bellow out an <em> Awww! </em> and wrap her arms around them, but all she can do is stare. Tears prickle at the corners of her eyes and she takes a moment to bask in the love she feels. The love for these two idiots, her forever roommates, who want to draw a mark for her but only if she’s okay with it.</p><p>Troy’s eager smile falls into a worried frown. “Annie? Are you upset? I <em> knew </em>we should have offered to draw it on Abed—”</p><p>That’s when she lunges towards them, pulling them into an awkward embrace between the recliners. And that’s when she watches as Abed draws the popcorn bag, with cartoonish lines and clean edges, and Troy carefully adds the popcorn to the top. She alternates her gaze between Troy’s skin and her own, marveling at the way the mark slowly appears on her arm. </p><p>When they’re finished she squeezes both of their hands in hers and beams. They don’t say <em> I love you guys </em>because they don’t need to. There’s proof of it on her left wrist.</p><p>She’s still staring at it when she’s tucked into the cave of her pillows later that evening. Annie can’t keep her eyes off the glow of the popcorn bag, not even when her phone buzzes and she remembers that it’s closing in on midnight. She takes one final moment to trace the shape before she (reluctantly) checks the notification.</p><p>
  <em> Tell me Abed didn’t make you watch the Christmas Eve special again. </em>
</p><p>It’s a text from Jeff, because of course it is. Can Annie not get a mark without hearing from the single person she wants one from anymore? The very notion of him is threatening to ruin her internal glow, but she manages to type out a reply anyway.</p><p><em> Nah, we did something a lot better. </em> She pauses a moment, forces herself to remember that her and Jeff are still friends, and adds, <em> Breakfast tomorrow? </em></p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>So Annie has three marks. Shirley and Pierce don’t own any part of her skin, but she’s okay with it. Her days of dreaming of a space for each of the Greendale Seven are over and it doesn’t carry a feeling of failure like it used to.</p><p>Of course, being okay with it doesn’t mean she doesn’t want to <em> understand </em> it, so she enrolls in a class. Because she’s Annie Edison, and that’s what she does. She takes things she doesn’t understand and reads the shit out of their textbooks.</p><p>It’s called Intro to Greek Philosophy because sometime in the eighties a group of (six) Markless students passed out a lawsuit. They argued that having a class solely devoted to the history and analysis of soulmarks was discriminatory and therefore went in direct conflict with the school’s mission. So Intro to Soulbounds and Their Marks was scraped and a thinly-veiled class of the philosophers who founded the study of soulbonding was born. And thirty years later, Annie Edison enrolls in it.</p><p>Professor Squire is a joke, as all Greendale professors are. The first few weeks are nothing more than a confusing diorama assignment and a handful of pointless readings. And that’s coming from Annie, one of the few students who <em> likes </em> readings. She makes her way through the classes, only half of her heart invested in the process, and spends the time wondering when she’ll actually learn something. Until finally, one day, Squire starts his most important lesson of the semester. </p><p>And Annie learns more than she ever bargained for.</p><p>The first writings of soulmarks are noted as appearing during the year of 348 B.C., from the Greek philosopher Plato. Plato, as he notes through the story of Aristophanes, theorizes that “humans were originally created with four arms, four legs and a head with two faces. Fearing their power, Zeus split them into two separate parts, condemning them to spend their lives in search of their other halves.” Expansion on what Plato actually means takes a few more centuries, but by the time the Greeks and Romans start paying attention to the definitively-not-boils appearing on their skin, studies of soulbonds are taken more seriously.</p><p>Soulmarks, Squire explains, come in three forms: platonic, criminal, and romantic. It seems silly to reduce powerful expressions of cosmic relationships to simple terms, but that’s how it goes. Platonic and criminal bonds are easy to understand and give. Drawing them doesn’t take much effort or time. Romantic marks, on the other hand, take longer to form. They have to be completely felt by the hand of the Giver and there can be no hesitations. The Giver must picture their Receiver perfectly, in a moment of unashamed passion, and feel a love so deep that the mark stays forever. And they rarely ever form in a moment of impulse, which is shown by the research conducted on how most Givers draw their romantic marks years after meeting their soulmate.</p><p>(Sometimes, Annie learns, Givers can draw marks that don’t stick. Sometimes a Giver can take their Government Designated Pen and press a symbol into their skin, full of false promises and broken dreams, and nothing appears on the other end. Annie doesn’t think of Jeff and Britta and failed marriage. She swears she doesn’t.)</p><p>The class on familial matches teaches her what she needs to know the most. Because the biological forces between parent and kin are so strong, they can rarely be manifested by the universe. It explains why Pierce and Shirley never claim any place on her body. Despite never having the best relations with her mother and father, Annie can accept that the inherent bond is hard to break through. Her attachment to Shirley and her weird softness for Pierce are just extensions of her need for consistent parental figures, and she learns to still smile earnestly at them both.</p><p>Some relationships have value without a mark. Many of those are parallel with those of her familial relationships, like with Shirley. And Pierce. And other people she might have been hopelessly waiting for. That’s what Annie learns.</p><p>When the week of Lessons in Soulmarks and Soul-bonding is over, she allows herself one day to mourn the fact that she doesn’t have a Jeff mark. Well—mourn isn’t the right word. Because mourning implies having lost something, and a scar from Jeff was never meant to be hers to begin with. He sees her as a child, someone to protect, and no one gets a mark for being a pseudo-niece. </p><p>And that’s all Annie is to Jeff. Family. So what if there were a few kisses, a few stolen glances of longing along the years? She’s had those with tons of boys, if Vaughn and Rich were anything to go by, and she’s never gotten marks from them. Jeff is special because Jeff is <em> family </em> and she needs to find a way to make that enough. So she closes the book, both on him and the class, and tries to convince herself that this is the beginning of a new story.</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>And so it goes like that for a while. Annie and her study group. Annie, with her soulbonded friends, and Annie with her family.</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>Her fourth mark is the most surprising.</p><p>The apple burns its way onto her breastbone at two a.m. on a Sunday night, almost two years after her last one. Troy has moved out by now, creating an unfillable space in the apartment. Abed turns the Dreamatorium into a linen closet (per Annie’s faith-broken suggestion) and they fall into a devastatingly normal routine. The popcorn still sits strong on her wrist, though, and she finds herself rubbing at it whenever her and Abed watch <em> The Dark Knight. </em>It’s a comfort during uncertain times of sandwich chains and school board decisions.</p><p>Maybe it’s because it’s been so long since she felt a mark appear, but something about this one feels different. It jolts her out of bed, disoriented and dizzy with a sensation she’s never experienced before. Where the whale and popcorn bag were mostly pleasant, and the gavel left her in pain long after the mark was completed, this one feels like something else entirely.</p><p>This one, Annie realizes with a breath of unbelievable clarity, feels like unconditional, non-platonic love.</p><p>It burns once again, demanding her attention. When she finally presses her finger to the curve of the stem, something happens.</p><p>School dances. Kisses on a stage. Conspiracy theories and bitter half-lies. Space conventions and decorating an apartment. Huddling next to a phone, desperate for one more moment of touching. Secret basements with emotion-based machines. Visions of a story, of a life, of a slow-burning but ever-building relationship shoot through her head. Visions of Jeff<em> . </em></p><p>Jeff, who she’s been pulled towards and pulling away from for so long. Jeff, who started as her idealized school girl crush and turned into her best friend without her even realizing it. Jeff, who knows Adderall Annie and Crazy Annie and Ace of Spades Annie and loves them all anyway.</p><p><em> Jeff</em>.</p><p>She swallows a squeal, knowing that Abed tends to sleep with one ear open. Two a.m. is a terrible time to have life-changing, universe dictated revelations, and she takes a moment to wonder why he’s even awake at all. They have both classes in the morning and he’s already used up all of his available <em> Planet Earth </em>teaching lessons. She contemplates calling him (to hear his voice? To tell him that she knows?) but ultimately decides that, if she’s managed to wait this long, she can spare a few more hours.</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>(Somewhere, on the other side of town, Jeff is bringing his designated pen to his sternum for the first time. He draws the apple from memory, with thoughts of Adam and Eve and forbidden love occupying the available space in his Scotch-driven brain. And if visions of Disney eyes and soft brown hair appear as he traces the lines, well, that’s no one’s business but his own. It’s not like newly-not-teenaged Annie Edison is his soulmate, anyway. It’ll alway go away in the morning.)</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>It doesn’t go away in the morning.</p><p>Not that Annie ever expected it too, not when she knows what she now knows. But there <em> is </em> a split second when her alarm buzzes her awake that she wonders if it was all just a dream. Her hands frantically reach under her t-shirt until she ghosts her finger over the apple, a warmth unlike one she’s ever known filling her bones as she does. She makes her way through her morning routine in a daze, her hand only leaving her chest when necessary to do other tasks. Neither Britta nor Abed mention her behavior, which is a blessing in its own right, but they do give her raised eyebrows and curious looks when she starts humming to her oatmeal at the breakfast table.</p><p>“What?” She asks innocently, body halfway out the door so she doesn’t have to explain any further than she needs to. “Just excited for the day! Go Greendale!” They don’t even get a chance to call after her as she closes the door and flies down the hallway. Besides, she assures herself when she finds a moment to feel guilty about lying. They’ll find out soon enough.</p><p>Part of her wonders if she should wait until after the committee meeting to find him—there’s a good chance that if she’s late again Frankie will be disappointed, and Annie hates disappointing Frankie—but her legs seem to have other ideas. She doesn’t even realize where they’re taking her until he’s standing outside his office. Her hands reach up to brush over his name, and she (foolishly) waits for her mark to glow. It doesn’t, because that’s not really how they work, so she takes a step back before knocking on the door.</p><p>“Garret, for the last time, I will <em> not </em> represent you and your cousin in marriage court—”</p><p>The sight of him as he opens the door, seemingly already annoyed with the world, leaves her breathless. He doesn’t look different than he does any other day (maybe a little more tired and distracted than usual, she notes with a satisfied hum), but it’s different now. Everything is different now.</p><p>“Hi.”</p><p>“Annie,” he breathes out, Adam's apple visibly moving down his throat. She wonders if she looks different to him now too. “Uh, come on in.”</p><p>Her heels clack soundly against the floor as she enters into the small space. Hickey’s desk remains empty and she thanks whoever’s up there for Frankie’s insistence on early morning meetings. She stands in the middle of it, engulfed in the silence and must, and realizes that, for once, she didn’t come in with a plan.</p><p>“What… What are you doing here? I’m not late for the meeting, am I? Or, I mean, no later than I usually am—”</p><p>
  <span>She twirls around to face him and realizes she can’t keep the wide smile off her face. Knowing that all she has to do is reach out and touch him is sending shockwaves of nerves and excitement through her. “No, Jeff. I’m not here about the meeting. I’m here about last night.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instantly, he knows. She can see it in his expression, as his face turns from confusion to realization to shook to something so incredibly soft in two seconds flat. There are so many things she can say—so many things she </span>
  <em>
    <span>wants</span>
  </em>
  <span> to say—but she doesn’t decide to explain any further. They both know she doesn’t need to. Instead, she takes a step closer to him, half expecting him to step back. (He doesn’t. If anything, he closes the space between them, so that if she wants, she can reach up and mix his labored breathing with hers. Oh, how she wants.) She’s not the nervous girl she once was, hasn’t known that Annie in months, but there is a hesitation in her movements. Her hand shakes softly as she slowly reaches up to press the spot on his chest that she now knows more intimately that she ever thought she could. Jeff’s eyes are unwavering as he watches her move the buttons on his shirt to feel the mark identical to hers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tears fill her eyes as she makes a sound halfway between a laugh and a gasp. Because it’s there, it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>real,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and she’s been waiting for it for so long. Time stills as they stand there, Annie crying and Jeff crying, her fingers gingerly tracing the spot that bonds them forever. She registers the feeling of his hands wrapping around hers, vaguely notices his lips press to the top of her head, and marvels at the sound of her name as he whispers it over and over into the small space between them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The apple on her chest glows warmly, happy to be in the arms of its creator, and all Annie can think about is how she knows exactly how it feels.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>